


A Shot of Espresso

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Castiel, Coffee Shops, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Sexual Humor, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 00:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8306677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “Did you mean it? About how it would suck not being able to see me?””There’s that smile again, except it’s a lot less guarded. “Mornings are what suck. You’re like my shot of espresso.”





	

 

By the third or fourth time it happens, people start asking questions.

Cas insists the coffee maker is busted. Every other day on the hour the thing just decides it doesn’t want to make coffee for him, which, for a hole-in-the-wall shop only a couple miles south of a Starbucks, is a problem.

Much closer is _Singer’s Auto,_ a body shop home to dozens of cars that look like a giant robot dog played fetch one too many times, where Cas gets the tools he needs to fix it.

And with that come the questions.

One of the three mechanics, Dean, is the generous donator of said tools. At first sight of him, Cas nearly trips over an engine mount. Dean has a jawline carved by the sharpest angel dagger, a set of cheeks sprinkled with sun-tinged holy water, a pair of lips made from the plushest clouds, and eyes of the purest green—and Cas isn’t even religious.

And to top it all off, he has the body of an Olympic swimmer masked by a royal blue jumpsuit with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing hulking forearms slathered in motor oil and who knows what else.

And he’s super nice, and non-judgmental unlike _some_ of his co-workers.

“Cas, I seriously don’t mind,” he says, handing him the two pencil-thin instruments. “If this thing’s as stubborn as you say, keep them.”

Cas tries to act casual as he accepts the tools and replies, “Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

This is the moment he’s been regretting to divulge since he stepped foot into the shop. It’s not like Dean would be interested in someone like Cas anyway. Dean’s ten thousand leagues past out of his league. Pining from a close, but safe distance is his best advantage.

“Well, you know,” Cas says, scratching his neck, “you might need these. I’d hate to have you walk and forth from our shops just to get them back.”

“Yeah, these bowlegs are a blessing in the sheets, but terrible in the streets,” Dean states, wiping his hands on a spare rag, and there’s definitely a wink.

Cas’s mouth runs like a motor warming up, “I, uh—I-I never noticed.”

“I appreciate the fib,” Dean laughs. “And besides, when am I going to work on a car that tiny?”

“Who knows, you might get an upset kid with a Hot Wheels car.”

Dean chuckles, “Whatever you say. I guess it would suck if you kept the tools.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because then I wouldn’t see you,” Dean says with a cheeky smile. It’s slightly hidden by Dean’s fascination with the floor, but nonetheless evident. Cas blushes. “Tell you what, you brew me your finest Americano, and you can borrow all the tools from my shop you want.”

Cas nods. It’s a fair trade, especially since he’s been thinking about how to return the favor. “Deal.” On his way out, Cas turns around. “Did you mean it? About how it would suck not being able to see me?””

There’s that smile again, except it’s a lot less guarded. “Mornings are what suck. You’re like my shot of espresso.”

When Cas gets back to work ten minutes later with a bounce in his step, people start asking a lot _more_ questions.

***

By the sixth time, Dean’s the one asking the sum of the questions.

“How many beans did you cram in this thing?”

Cas scoffs, though it’s mostly playful, “Excuse me, it’s a coffee maker, it’s _supposed_ to ground beans.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not doing crap right now,” Dean mutters, reaching behind the machine for the cord. Cas won’t admit to checking out his ass at that moment, which is nearly planted like two fresh bagels on the front counter behind them. After a few minutes, he wipes his hands on his jumpsuit. “Done.”

“What?” Cas says, aghast. “What do you mean done? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Dean affirms, turning on the wonky contraption. Sure enough, coffee runs from the top and into the cup below.

Cas bites his lip. “Well, I’m officially embarrassed. I should’ve had you look at it in the first place.”

Dean just chuckles as his eyes do a little squint reading what’s scribbled on the outside label: _I’m not bold enough to be espresso, but I can be your shot of sugar._ He holds it up to show Cas after the coffee stops running. “Who’s this for?”

“Flip it over.”

Dean does just that to reveal his name in what’s an attempt at cursive. He blushes.

Unbeknownst to Cas, Dean gets a _lot_ of questions when he returns to his shop.

***

"Sorry I couldn't, huu-" Cas tapers off as he feels himself fill up like a blimp, then deflate, "brew your usual."

Dean laughs, "Cas, buddy, I think _you're_ the one in need of caffeine. Sit down."

"You know how to make it?"

In hindsight, it's a stupid question, but Cas will take any excuse to talk to keep himself awake. Also, he gets to see that thing Dean does where he purses his pink, heart-shaped lips: "I fixed your coffee machine."

Cas chuckles nervously, cringing as he takes a seat. "Right. Espresso with a pinch of honey, please."

"So how does a guy like you tire so easily all the sudden?"

"College. Cramming for midterms." Cas props his head up, looking down at the finger-smudged table. "I had a twelve-hour shift last night, so I stayed up most of the morning studying.”

A smile pulls Dean's face in either direction. "That explains the pencil stuck in your hair."

Cas tilts his head a little, causing something to slide out and clink to the floor. Startled, Cas looks down and blushes. "Well, that's embarrassing."

"It's okay," Dean reassures, walking over to Cas's table with his espresso in hand. Cas accepts it, the warmth from the mug spreading to his palms, and then to his face as Dean's calloused fingers brush against his. "My little brother goes to college too. Although, his bedhead isn't as adorable as yours."

Cas’s coffee slips down his throat so fast, he feels like he drank a whole Jacuzzi. Dean must notice, because he smiles again. "So, what's your brother studying?"

"Law, at Stanford, believe it or not,” Dean replies. "He got the brains and I got the brawns.”

Cas narrows his eyes as he sets down his mug. “Why would you say that?”

“I’m a mechanic.”

“Mechanics can’t be smart and eat their Wheaties too?”

“How do you figure?”

“Well,” Cas says, tapping his finger on the porcelain cup, “whether or not you go to college for it, engineering is rooted in mathematics and physics, which can be super complex stuff. I don’t know much about mechanical engineering, but I do know electrical engineering involves utilizing the AC and DC formulas to—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, college boy,” Dean says, holding up a hand, “did you say AC/DC? As in alternating current and direct current?”

Cas feels his gummy smile poking out. “Yeah, exactly like that. How did you know that?”

Dean shrugs, but returns the smile. “I love AC/DC.”

“Ah.”

“…yeah,” Dean replies, scratching his neck. “So, are you majoring in engineering?”

Cas laughs as he brings his coffee to his lips again, “Oh no,” he reassures, taking a sip before going on, “not anymore, anyway. I absolutely _suck_ at math and physics. I’m studying to be a genealogist, so I can figure out what’s it’s in my father’s bloodline to make him so opposed to everything I want to do.”

Dean huffs a laugh of his own, “I know how that is. Sam’s the golden child in our three-person family.”

“Michael’s a preacher—a _preacher._ Who wants to give sermons all day?”

“Sam’s gonna be a lawyer, and I wonder the exact same thing.”

“To the working class,” Cas says, raising his mug before downing the last of his coffee before scrunching his face. It’s bitter like pale ale, but the honey balances it out. Cas doesn’t tell management, but he collects the honey himself. It’s much more flavorsome than creamer.

“So,” Cas starts, gesturing to the coffee maker to their left, “do you think it’s finally fixed?”

Dean smiles, green eyes alight with ember flames that scorch Cas’s soul. “God, I hope not.”

 

 

 

The questions finally stop when Cas returns to work the next day, dropped off by Dean, who holds Cas’s hand.


End file.
